


How Do You Feel About Honey Bees?

by twoseas



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Content, Feelings, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Post-Episode: s04e13 No Better To Be Safe Than Sorry, guess who's coming back to life, post-season 4 finale, some extremely made up Fillory information
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 23:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18788203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twoseas/pseuds/twoseas
Summary: Quentin, Eliot, and Margo talk. Eurydice has some tricks up her sleeve. Quentin goes for a swim.





	How Do You Feel About Honey Bees?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [How Do You Feel About Honey Bees?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20723813) by [WinteryFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinteryFox/pseuds/WinteryFox)



> As a fan of The Magicians, American Gods, Game of Thrones, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe, I have been going through it with these fictional worlds. But I don't think anything made me as salty as The Magicians' finale. If this is a mess, it is only because I, twoseas, am a mess. 
> 
> Please, enjoy!

Death wasn’t really what Quentin expected. That was kind of his choice though, so he felt he shouldn’t be surprised. 

He sat at his table and flipped idly through his book, admiring the chapter illustrations. He’d already been through all the Fillory books, all the Harry Potter books, all the Lord of the Rings books (including The Hobbit and Silmarillion), as well as a few romances that were heavy on the erotica and light on the plot. 

The lakeside was as serene as ever, the sun shining bright on the lake’s surface while a light breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. 

He felt a little thirsty and a large glass of lemonade appeared on his table, ice clinking. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered to the glass. Life might have given him lemons once upon a time, but death got him pretty much anything he wanted. It was as unsettling as it was convenient. 

The glass was half empty and his book had changed into one of the trashier romances he enjoyed when something happened. 

“Holy shit,” Quentin breathed, eyes focused on the small boat that had just skid to shore. It tipped slightly to the side, just barely staying upright on the gently lapping lakeside. 

On his feet in an instant, Quentin ran straight for the boat, his heart racing in anticipation. Two figures stumbled up from the boat, a man and a woman who were well dressed but wobbly on their feet as they struggled to disembark. He wasn’t close enough to see their faces and they were moving too much to distinguish clear details on their appearances anyway. He picked up the pace.

He’d been rehearsing his introduction in his head since he took the job and he hoped it was suitably informative and calming. 

“Questers, welcome to the Afterlife,” he announced only slightly out of breath as soon as he reached talking distance. “For your temporary stay, I’ll be your guide to the-”

The two figures stiffened before launching themselves out of the tangle of limbs they’d become on the boat. 

“Quentin!”

“Q!”

Quentin’s welcoming smile dropped, jaw slack from shock. 

“El?” He looked Eliot over, the man dressed in a beautiful black suit complete with pocket watch chain and silver handled cane. Margo was dressed only slightly more practically in a black shirt, black jeans, and a bright fuschia leather jacket that matched her lipstick. “Margo?”

They rushed him, surrounding him in an embrace that was warm from their bodies and soft from the quality of their clothing. It felt like home. 

The arms around him shook and it took him a stunned moment to realize they were crying. 

“Guys,” he murmured, doing his best to hold back his own tears and fight through the lump forming in his throat. 

“We missed you so fucking much,” Eliot whispered into the top of his head. 

“So. Fucking. Much.” Margo growled into his shoulder. 

Closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, Quentin found the smell of Margo’s shampoo and Eliot’s cologne were enough to have his tears falling. 

“I’ve missed you guys too,” he mumbled. “H-how long has it been since I…”

“A few weeks,” Margo told him, pulling away reluctantly. She straightened her jacket and discreetly wiped at her eyes, makeup flawless. 

Eliot was still wrapped around him, long arms fully surrounding him. It felt better than anything. 

“Wow,” Quentin blinked. 

The space between Margo’s eyebrows creased. “Did you not know?”

“Time works weird here,” Quentin told her slowly. “It feels like it’s been hours. Or maybe days. I can’t really…”

He gestured vaguely in agitation, hoping that conveyed the weirdness of the situation. Then something clicked in his brain. 

“Oh, shit.” He pushed away from Eliot, meeting his hurt expression with one of apology. “You guys are on a quest, right? To the Temple of the Forgotten? You’re alive so you’re on a time limit, we’ve got to go.”

Remembering the job he’d accepted, Quentin waved to the other two to follow him. He wanted to talk. God, he wanted to just be with them. But he had a job and they had a quest and he couldn’t get in their way. 

As he started to step away, Margo stooped to grab the cane that had somehow gotten tossed to the ground. She handed it to Eliot and demanded, “How do you know that?” 

“That’s sort of my job now,” Quentin shrugged. “I’m the guide.”

Margo took Eliot’s hand, her eyes searching over his features before she turned to Quentin. Quentin ached to do the same, to stare at them long enough to memorize their faces all over again, but instead he kept moving, leading them up path that had been taught to him when he first arrived. They both followed. 

“I didn’t realize the afterlife was hiring,” Eliot quipped, but it came out strangled and uneven. 

“I don’t think it does usually,” Quentin wondered aloud. “But, uh, I guess the Temple of the Forgotten is kind of a big deal so there always needs to be a guide on hand and the former guide said he wanted a break. So here I am until he gets back.”

“How the hell does that happen?” Margo asked, disbelief coloring her voice. 

Steps even and stride long, Quentin kept his eyes facing forward as he lead them through the forest. The terrain was even if not particularly well trod and they were making good time. “Oh, um, so I...died. And I went through the Underworld. Penny was there. He was a lot nicer, even let me hug him. After though, I passed through this gate thing? I don’t really...Anyway, I ended up at that lakeside and the former guide gave me a choice. He said I could move on like normal, see my dad and everything, or I could help magicians on quests for a little while. Apparently my history made me an ideal candidate for his replacement and he explained a bit about the temple, how it contains some artifacts that questers are always looking for. I accepted.”

“Why?” Eliot asked. Quentin didn’t look back, but he could tell from his tone that Eliot’s lips were pressed together in displeasure. “Why would you give up on resting in peace and instead take another job?”

He hunched his shoulders. “I wanted to help people like us. All our quests and all that cryptic bullshit always made me so-” He bit back the angry rant he could feel building. “I just wanted to make it easier for people like us. And I’m glad I did because now I get to help you both. Now I get to see you guys one last time.”

Margo’s breath hitched and Eliot let out a wounded noise. Quentin steadied himself with a long inhale and exhale, his fingers fidgeting with the edges of his sleeves. 

“I saw the funeral,” Quentin admitted to the trees. “Penny let me see it and some of what came later.”

“You saw the bonfire?” Eliot asked, voice hushed to the point Quentin could barely hear him. 

“Yeah.” Swallowing heavily, Quentin tried not to cry while remembering Eliot’s voice joining in around the fire. He was so injured but he still went, Margo right by his side. It had been amazing to see him there, see him walking and himself and surrounded by love. 

Margo cleared her throat and Quentin wondered if she was holding back tears too. Margo was made of tougher stuff than Quentin, but when she cared, she really fucking cared. When she spoke it was even, but rougher than usual. “What do you mean you saw some of what came later? What else did you see?” 

They reached a natural fork in the path and Quentin took them left, the temple just barely visible through a gap in the trees. 

“I was worried what would happen to you guys,” Quentin sighed. “When I...did what I did, I had no idea how things would turn out. I knew I’d save Penny and Alice. I knew I’d stop that asshole. But I didn’t know what would happen to you all. Our timeline’s Penny showed me that even if there were more crises to solve that you guys would be alright and things would be ok. That I’d done what I was meant to do.”

“Bullshit!” Eliot’s shout tore through the air like a bullet. 

Quentin stumbled to a clumsy stop and turned wide eyes on the two of them. He nearly took a step back at their expressions. Eliot was livid and horrified at once, his eyes boring into Quentin’s and his jaw squared off and tense. Margo looked murderous, her nostrils flaring. 

“Don’t ever say that, Q,” Eliot demanded. “Don’t you dare say we’re alright, that we’re ok. You hadn’t done what you were meant to do. You were meant to live!”

“I didn’t-” He tried to pacify them, hands held outward, but Margo cut clear across him. 

“No, Quentin, you’re going to listen. You did a brave thing and saved so many people and I would never take that away from you. But that doesn’t make what happened ok. It doesn’t change the fact that you died when you weren’t supposed to. And it sure as all fuck doesn’t change the fact that we’re in goddamn mourning.” Margo stomped her foot and pointed emphatically at her and Eliot’s black clothing. “Just because we’re still out here clawing, biting, and being the boss bitches we are to get shit done doesn’t mean we’re alright with what happened to you. We put on a brave face and we fake it till we fucking make it, babe, but that doesn’t mean we’re over it. You’re ours, Quentin. You’ve been ours since the moment Eliot saw your stupid adorable puppy dog face and decided we should keep you. Losing you was losing part of ourselves and I won’t allow you to stand there and tell us this is how it’s supposed to be.”

“I never even got to see you,” Eliot told him hoarsely, tears spilling over. “I was that  _ thing  _ for weeks and when I was finally free I-”

“We had to hear from Penny that you were dead while Eliot was in a hospital bed with blood soaking through his bandages,” Margo continued where Eliot faltered, fierce in her grief. “We had to hear it after I had already held his hand and told him how happy you were going to be to see him, how hard you worked to get him back, what you went through, how that monster did the most damage to you because you were its favorite but you kept going despite it all. I told him how fucking Team Eliot you were and then we got to hear that you were gone. You say you saw the funeral, Coldwater? We weren’t late because of how hard it was for Eliot to walk. We were late because Eliot broke down and I was right there with him.”

“We barely pulled it together,” Eliot whispered. “We’re still barely pulling it together.”

Margo ground out, “You’re a hero, Q. But life isn’t about being a hero. Life is about living and you were always meant for that.”

Quentin sniffed and scrubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. His throat was tight, his nose was runny, his eyes itched from all the tears and felt puffy. He could barely mumble out, “I’m sorry. I’m-I-”

“We know,” Margo told him more gently. “We know, babe. But it still hurts to know you’re here and not with us out there.”

“Can you-” Eliot broke off, his eyes shut tight. When he opened them they were red and tear glazed and so pained it hurt Quentin to see. “I know I shouldn’t ask, that what happened happened and nothing can change that, but can you...Can you tell me you wanted to stay with us? Please, Q. Tell me you wanted to stay.”

Quentin sucked in a shaky breath. He couldn’t pretend not to know what Eliot meant, not when he’d asked himself the same thing in his own way with Penny. 

“Things had gotten pretty bad, but...yeah,” Quentin laughed sadly. “Yeah, El. I wanted to stay. So much.”

Eliot closed his eyes again and brought a hand to his face, visibly shaking. 

They stood there in heavy, mournful silence, unable to do more than look at each other and Eliot could barely do that. 

“We need to go,” Quentin told them, full of regret. “You guys are still on a quest, right?”

Margo gripped Eliot’s hand tight and nodded. Eliot took another moment, but then he nodded too. 

Quentin took them the last quarter mile to the temple, his heart burdened with the knowledge that life was going on without him no matter how dearly he wished to be a part of it. He’d only get his friends for another couple of moments, then they’d be separated. Margo and Eliot had a quest to complete. They needed to leave to do that and he couldn’t follow.  

Forcing down his own sadness and longing, Quentin waved them through. “The Temple of the Forgotten.”

It wasn’t a crumbling ruin, instead looking how he imagined a Grecian temple in its ancient prime would look - large columns, seamless and elaborate reliefs, highly pigmented paint and gold and silver and enamel for decoration. The inside was stuffed full of objects, artifacts tucked into alcoves, held in the outstretched hands of statues, and displayed on velvety cushions that sat atop plinths. 

“I’ve been waiting for you three,” came a lovely, musical voice. A woman stepped from behind a statue, her eyes raking over them. “I’m Eurydice.”

“As in Orpheus and Eurydice?” Quentin couldn’t help but ask. He’d met a lot of gods and mythological figures (there was a precedent), but he still felt the need to clarify. 

“Exactly,” Eurydice dipped her head graciously. “You already met my husband when you first arrived, but I don’t believe he introduced himself properly.”

Quentin had only met one other person, a handsome man who reminded him of a happier, less drunk, younger Dean Fogg. “The former guide?” 

“That’s one way of looking at him,” she acknowledged, an enigmatic glint in her eyes. She turned her gaze towards Margo and Eliot. “You’re looking for the Gauntlet of Astrid the Fair.”

“Holy shit!” Quentin jumped in excitement and turned to Margo and Eliot. “Why didn’t you say?”

Margo and Eliot looked at him with bemused frowns and he shook his head in wonder, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“Ok, so in the Fillory books there are all kinds of little easter eggs that provide a glimpse into Fillory’s history. There’s one particular figure who’s mentioned twice and that’s Astrid the Fair. Whether calling her ‘the Fair’ had to do with her appearance or temperament has been a big debate on the forums, but I’ve always been inclined to say temperament since Astrid was mentioned by characters defined by their wisdom and sagacity and in the context of moral lessons to the Chatwins during their quests. Astrid the Fair’s signature weapon was her gauntlet which she used during one of the first of Fillory’s great wars. She supposedly caught a cursed blade aimed at her companion and shattered it between her armored fingers. Most fans, myself included, are pretty sure Astrid and her unnamed companion were lovers since the story also has some elements that seem derivative of the tale of Achilles and Patroclus. Anyway, the gauntlet was believed to be imbued with unimaginable magic. Apparently it was so powerful that other than Astrid only Death could wield it.”

A gut wrenching sob interrupted Quentin’s explanation and had him freezing. Eliot had his hand pressed to his mouth and Margo looked teary again, both of them staring at Quentin with wide, astounded eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot laughed thickly, voice muffled by his palm. “I just- I’ve really missed you, Q.”

“God help me, even I missed this,” Margo croaked. 

Quentin opened his mouth before shutting it, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t end in him becoming a blubbering mess.

“Quentin’s right, of course, about the gauntlet,” Eurydice told them, bringing their attention back to her. 

“What?” Margo demanded, instantly incensed. “How in the hell are we supposed to take it then? Does it look like either of us-” she waved between herself and Eliot “-is wearing a dark hooded cape? Any exposed skulls? Carrying a giant sickle? No, just designer outfits, flawless skin, and hands full of nada.”

“Not literally Death,” Eurydice corrected patiently, her mouth quirking in an amused smile. “Or Hades or Thanatos or any other representative of death. The legend behind Astrid’s gauntlet has more to do with its particular requirements. To be held, the gauntlet needs a certain amount of magic from this realm. This is a universe of the dead, you see, and the ambient magic around us is of a different...frequency than that of the realm of the living.”

“Ok and what does that mean for us?” Eliot asked with a frown. 

“It means you need to spend about a month soaking up the magic here for either of you to wield this thing,” Eurydice told them clearly and matter of factly. 

“Well, son of a twat!” Margo spat. “That’s us fucked again.”

“Let’s add it to the list,” Eliot sighed. 

Margo started to pace, agitated and looking only more ready to fight. “We paid that creepy old walnut of a man every damn rare coin we could get our well manicured hands on and he said that still only bought us two, three hours tops.”

“Even generously rounding up that is...not a month,” Eliot groaned, running a hand over his face. He looked so, so tired and Quentin felt the need to comfort him somehow. 

“There’s got to be a way,” Quentin spoke up, more confident than he really had any right to sound. “Right?”

“There is,” Eurydice told them with another bright smile. 

“Which is…” Eliot prompted while Margo kept pacing. 

“Don’t worry, I thought it all through ages ago,” Eurydice assured them as she strode over and flicked both Margo and Eliot on the head. 

They disappeared. 

“What the fuck?!” Quentin clutched at his hair. “What did you do to them?”

“Sent them home, of course.”

Eurydice grabbed a bracelet off a plinth and walked over, calm as could be. “Hand.”

“What?”

Heaving a sigh, but still smiling, Eurydice snatched Quentin’s hand and yanked him forward, snapping the bracelet onto his wrist. It expanded out like some kind of Iron Man glove, covering his entire hand in plated bronze. 

“Jesus!”

“Not at all,” Eurydice told him. “This is much older.”

“Th-this is not- I am not-” Quentin stuttered. “What is happening?!”

“Astrid was a very powerful magician,” Eurydice explained, patting the gauntlet. It felt lighter than metal should and it wasn’t even very cold. It folded back down, once more looking to be an innocuous piece of statement jewelry. “She also died. Twice. That first time she declared her death unfair and she was determined to find a way back to her lover. She forged this gauntlet while here in the Afterlife, found the weakest point of contact between the realms of the living and dead, and used the gauntlet to cross. Astrid reunited with her love, ended Fillory’s first great war, and lived a very long and very happy life raising honey bees with her wife before she died in her sleep at the age of seventy-five. Astrid also happened to be my daughter.”

Eurydice met Quentin’s panicked gaze with a piercing one of her own, thousands of years of experience roiling behind her clear eyed stare. 

“Take it from someone who knows, Quentin. Death is an inevitable part of life, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t life left to live. Goodbye.”

She flicked him on the head. 

 

Water filled his lungs, a suffocating, burning pressure. 

The dark blinded him. He couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. 

Holding his breath, trying not to breathe in any more fluid, Quentin struck out and followed the rise of bubbles around him. 

Breaking the surface with a huge gasp, Quentin sucked in as much oxygen as his protesting lungs allowed. His face prickled from the cold air, sharp as a slap. 

Coughing, sputtering, waterlogged, and unable to see for all the water in his eyes, Quentin scrambled to his feet when he felt some kind of ground beneath him. 

Wiping at his eyes, Quentin heaved himself onto dry land, the pebbles and silt a welcome change from the disorientation of the water. 

“Bambi!”

“If I’m really seeing what I think I’m seeing, the forehead flicks are completely forgiven.”

Arms pulled him up off the ground while shaky hands pat at his face. He struggled to blink away the water that left his vision blurred.

“El? Margo?” Quentin stuttered out, unable to believe what he was hearing and feeling. 

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive,” was chanted in his ear in a desperate, low tone. 

“He is, Eliot. He is,” Margo assure him. She swam into focus in front of Quentin, her grin blinding as she pressed warm fingers to his damp skin. “You’ve got a pulse, Coldwater.”

“What?”

“You’re alive,” Eliot sobbed against the side of his head. 

Eliot had him wrapped firmly in his arms while Margo kept patting at every inch of him she could reach, her smile delighted in a way Quentin could hardly believe was directed at him. 

With Eliot’s help, Quentin was leveraged into a sitting position. Neither of them stopped touching him, both sitting pressed up against him - Eliot on his right, Margo on his left. 

“I’ve, uh, got your gauntlet,” Quentin managed stupidly, holding his wrist up to show them the thick bronze bracelet. 

“It goes surprisingly well with your hoodie/jeans combo,” Margo laughed, joyous and free. 

Large, strong hands cupped either side of his face, forcing him to meet Eliot’s adamant gaze. 

“Never again, Q. You never do that again, ok?” Eliot’s voice broke, a harsh breath leaving him as he looked over Quentin’s features like a man starved. “You have to live. You have to.”

“I’m going to do my best,” Quentin mumbled, dazed at the look on his best friend’s face. 

“Not good enough,” Margo chided. “We’re keeping you, Q. And that means no more of this dying business.”

“I love you, Q,” Eliot said at once, savage and sure and blazing with sincerity. His hands tightened their hold around Quentin’s face. “I want to spend another lifetime with you. And to do that I need you alive.”

“What?” Quentin wheezed. 

Eliot leaned in and pressed his forehead to Quentin’s. Their noses brushed. 

“I love you, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean what I said back then, I was just scared. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you. I love you,” Eliot continued in a litany of confessions that speared Quentin right in the heart. 

Quentin opened and closed his mouth like a fish, gawking in astonishment.

Margo made a noise in the back of her throat as she ran a hand through Quentin’s wet hair. “Don’t Quentin out about this, we did just get you back from the dead.”

“It’s not-” Quentin choked. “I’m not freaking out.”

“No?” Eliot asked. A hesitant, scared look clouded his eyes, as if he just realized all the things he said. 

“No,” Quentin laughed, sudden and bright. He beamed. “No. I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” Eliot grinned back. His eyeliner was a little smudged and Quentin used the tip of his thumb to carefully clean it up a bit. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, heart full. 

Margo stood up, a hand on Quentin’s shoulder and her smile still firmly in place. “Time to go, babes. We’ve got friends to find, a kingdom to save, and gloriously filthy celebratory sex to have.”

“Are you ready?” Eliot asked, eyes locked onto Quentin’s. 

Quickly stealing a kiss that had Eliot chasing his lips, Quentin nodded and rose to his feet. 

He helped Eliot up and linked their arms together. “El, how do you feel about honey bees?”

“If we’re talking domestic hobbies, I think we can dream bigger and less stinger-y. Are you open to constructive criticism and/or taking suggestions?”

They followed Margo, who chipped in her own recommendations and shot down almost all of Quentin’s. 

There was still so much to do, Quentin was sure he’d be feeling overwhelmed and overwrought soon enough. They had a quest. They had to find everyone and tell them the news. They had struggles and pain and conflict coming their way just like they always did. But they would face it, all of it, together. 

They were alive. 

Quentin’s cheeks ached from smiling. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Margo: Look at Eliot and Q, all over each other. Disgusting.  
> Josh: You are literally on top of them.  
> Margo, spread out over Eliot and Quentin's laps: So???


End file.
